


Love That Cannot Die, A

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: A bittersweet post-"SR 819 "/pre-"Two Fathers"-"One Son" Valentine's Day bon-bon.





	Love That Cannot Die, A

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

A Love That Cannot Die by m. butterfly

A Love That Cannot Die (1/1)  
by m. butterfly  
  
Rating: NC-17 for explicit m/m sex, language  
Category: M/Sk  
Spoilers: SR 819  
Archive: Anywhere--just leave my name on it  
Summary: A bittersweet post-"SR 819 "/pre-"Two Fathers"-"One Son" Valentine's Day bon-bon.  
Author's note: The title is from the song "I Could Not Love You More," from the album "Still Waters," written by Barry, Robin and Maurice Gibb, a.k.a. the Bee Gees. Lines introduced and ended with a double slash // are internal and not spoken out loud by the characters.  
Disclaimers: The characters Walter Skinner, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Alex Krycek et al. belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. This is a work of fiction intended only for private enjoyment. "I Could Not Love You More " is used without permission (of course), but the Bee Gees and Polydor should thank me for the lovely free plug.

* * *

A Love That Cannot Die  
by m. butterfly

As tired and miserable as he was, he noticed the red light blinking the moment he walked in the dimly-lit room. The *message* light, flashing away on the ugly, utilitarian phone.

//Walter?//

That now-familiar melange of excitement and dread washed over him. He tossed his worn leather satchel on one of the double beds, snatched up the receiver, and initiated the message-retrieval process.

"Room. 614. You have. One. Message." The female voice reminded him of the computer from Star Trek.

Instead of Walter Skinner's soothing baritone, he heard a perky-sounding woman. "Mr. Mulder, this is Sarah calling from reception. An envelope came for you today and it's marked 'urgent.' We're a little busy because of the holiday

//*What* holiday? Oh, *that*. Oh, brother.//

so it may not have been delivered to your room yet. If it hasn't, you can come down and pick it up any time, or I can have someone bring it to you. Just dial zero. 'Bye, now."

He hung up, simultaneously disappointed and relieved, and glanced around the room. Nope. No envelope. It had to have something to do with the case he and Scully were working on.

He checked his watch. 4:35 p.m. At least they'd wrapped up at a reasonable time today. Not like last night, which had seen him drag his sorry ass back to the hotel around midnight. Skinner'd left two messages, the second one asking Mulder to call him no matter how late he got in. Which he had.

Because Kersh was paying so much attention to Mulder's expense reports these days, and he didn't want his prick of a boss knowing anything about his private life, he and Skinner had worked out a convoluted communications system for when Mulder was away on assignment. Skinner would only call the hotel from home or his personal cell phone. If Mulder wasn't there, he'd leave a message. When Mulder picked up the message, he would call home and hang up after five rings. If he didn't hear back from Skinner right away, Mulder would try his cell. It was a pain in the ass, but a necessary one. And it worked.

Fox Mulder forced himself to calm down and decide what to do about the envelope waiting for him downstairs. He was supposed to meet up with Scully for dinner at six, which meant he could pick it up then. But it was marked "urgent"...

He thought of calling reception to have it sent to his room, but he wanted to take a shower, and the thought of waiting around for God knows how long it took them to deliver it didn't sit well with him right now. Fuck it! He'd go down to the front desk and get it himself.

*******

As he stepped off the elevator, he was nearly mowed down by a young man carrying a huge, heart-shaped, helium balloon arrangement. The lobby was busier than it had been just a few minutes ago, when he and Scully had gone up to their rooms. He passed by couples, both young and old, some holding hands, some arm in arm, and felt a dull ache somewhere beneath the breast pocket of his shirt. He just wanted to get the envelope and get the hell out of here, as quickly as possible.

The desk clerk cheerfully handed it to him: a standard FedEx 8" x 10".

"Since when do they deliver on Sundays?" he asked no one in particular.

"Actually, Mr. Mulder," answered the clerk, "it came yesterday, with explicit instructions not to notify you about it until today." 

"I see," he said, not seeing at all. Then he looked at the waybill and froze in his tracks. The sender was one Walter S. Skinner, from Crystal City, Virginia.

//He wouldn't have! Would he?//

Mulder thawed and snickered softly. The ache in his chest intensified as he headed back to the elevator.

//Yeah, he would.//

Skinner, the FBI Assistant Director who could reduce 200-pound agents to walking bowls of Jell-O with a well-aimed scowl--and one 170-pound Special Agent with a well-placed kiss--was capable of anything, Mulder had decided months ago. 

Before Mulder had left Washington the previous Thursday for Texas, Skinner was understandably peeved that his lover would be away over the weekend. They'd spent practically every non-working day together, usually holed up at Skinner's condo--now *their* condo--since they'd begun seeing each other last October.

"I guess you won't be back by Sunday," Skinner had groused while Mulder packed.

"Doubt it." Someone was smuggling Mexican labourers across the border, first into Brownsville, then up the coast to Corpus Christi. He'd be gone for several days. Maybe a week, even.

Mulder had closed the suitcase and moved it onto the floor before sitting beside Skinner on the bed and taking his hand. "I hope you know how much it frustrates the hell out of me, being sent away like this instead of looking for that asshole Krycek."

"Did you let the Three Stooges know where you'll be in case they find out anything?"

"Yeah. I know you think the Gunmen are really out there, but I'm glad we have them on our side."

"'Our' side? Good God! You haven't told them about us, have you?"

"Easy, big guy! Of course not! But they know I respect you, so they've never questioned my motives. They're pretty good guys, actually." He'd pressed the back of Skinner's hands to his lips. "God, I hate being away from you for just a night, let alone a whole weekend..."

Skinner had looked at their linked fingers. "Especially *this* weekend."

"What's so special about this one?"

He'd tried to laugh it off. "Forget it. It's stupid. Let's go to bed."

"Hey! What about the 'no-more-secrets-from-each-other policy?' Come on, Walter. Out with it." 

He'd glanced over at the suitcase. "Nothing. It--it's just Valentine's Day. Our first. And maybe--" Mulder had paled noticeably, and his pained expression had prevented Skinner from finishing the sentence.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Mulder had held Skinner by the chin. "For one thing, you know as well as I do that Valentine's Day is nothing but a bullshit holiday dreamed up by greedy marketing types to sell tons of flowers, candy, sappy cards, and stuffed toys with stupid little hearts all over them. A holiday for *straight* couples, Walter."

"I know, but--"

"*We* don't need our friendly neighbourhood florist to tell us when to be lovey-dovey with each other. As far as I'm concerned, every day with you is Valentine's Day. Am I right?"

"Of course, Fox. I shouldn't--"

"But if February 14 is so bloody important to you, then I'll make sure we spend it together next year, and the next year, and every goddamned year after that. Okay?" He'd fought like hell to keep his voice even, his breathing normal, his eyes from betraying his emotions.

And Skinner had both recognized and appreciated the effort. He'd captured Mulder's face between his palms and gazed at him with so much love it hurt. "Brave little soldier, aren't you?"

"Who're you calling 'little,' pal?" Mulder had then pushed Skinner down on the bed and made wild, mind-numbing love to him.

The chime of the elevator brought Mulder out of his reverie. Clutching the envelope to his chest like it was a part of Skinner himself, he boarded the car and punched the button for his floor a little harder than usual, startling his fellow passengers.

//Damn it! I should have sent him something!//

Since leaving Washington four days ago, Mulder had thought about having some sort of gift delivered to Skinner at their condo. But he didn't know what. Sending flowers was out of the question. Too funereal. Candy? Not Skinner's style. In the end, he decided that the best thing he could possibly give the man--apart from a way to eradicate those fucking nano-things in his bloodstream, which would kill him whenever Ratboy and whoever he was working for felt the urge to reactivate them--was the promise of another romantic getaway.

During the Christmas holidays, they'd spent an idyllic week together in Key West, Florida. No one had batted an eye when they held hands across the table in a restaurant, or walked along the beach with their arms around each other, or practically made out on the dance floor at a nightclub on New Year's Eve when the clock struck twelve.

Just the thought of kissing Skinner in public again gave Mulder gooseflesh. Yes, when he got home--soon, hopefully--he'd suggest they go back to Key West just as soon as Skinner was out of danger. Or maybe to San Francisco. Mulder couldn't think of a better way to spend some of the money his father had left him. Boy, if good-old, straight-shooting Bill Mulder could only see his son now...

But Mulder didn't want to think about his father. He was going to open his gift--well, that's what he assumed it was--and call Skinner to thank him for it.

He sat down on the bed and carefully opened the envelope. In it was another, smaller one--a red one--and what was obviously a CD, wrapped in plain white paper. Being Mulder, he opened the disc first. And couldn't help laughing.

"The Bee Gees?!? My God, Walter!"

It was the album they'd recorded a couple of years ago, "Still Waters." He noticed that it was no longer shrink-wrapped. Strange...

Then he picked up the red envelope, his first name scrawled across the front in a loving hand he knew so well. He had a hard time reading it, until he blinked to cleared his vision.

//Shit!//

Some days, it was easier to fall apart than others. This, apparently, was one of them.

The front of the card was simple in its design: a red heart on a white background. No type. Classic Walter Skinner.

The inside, too, was blank. That is, devoid of any copywriter's trite musings. Skinner's handwritten message read:

   Dear Fox-

   I realize you think Valentine's Day is a crock of shit. I always have, too. If you'd been home today, I honestly don't know if I'd have given you a gift. (I mean an actual gift, you pervert!) But you're not, so I have. Don't be insulted and think that I don't consider every day with you to be special, like you said the other night, because I do. If I'm being too sentimental these days, you know why. And, for God's sake, don't go and get all depressed! I'm fine now and I'm going to be fine. We're going to beat this thing. You've said it yourself.

   I know you opened the CD first, and you should be ashamed of yourself for laughing at my taste in music. Do I give you a hard time about your precious Barry Manilow collection? (Okay, don't answer that.) What I want you to do right now is put on your Discman and play Track 3. I wish I was good at expressing myself, the way you do, but I couldn't write a decent love poem if my life depended on it. (Sorry. Bad choice of words.) Anyway, just close your eyes and listen to this song. It says it all.

   I miss you and love you lots.

   Walter

   P.S. You've got a wild imagination, so you can pretend that it's me singing (ha, ha).

The words started to swim again. Mulder pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes tight. When the wave of despair ebbed, he turned the jewel case over to see what Track 3 was called.

"'I Could Not Love You More,'" he read aloud. "Oh, Christ." The temptation to jump on a plane and go home had never been stronger. But if he walked out on this assignment, Kersh would finally be justified in having him thrown out of the Bureau. And Mulder couldn't let that happen. He needed the FBI and its full resources to help Skinner. Until then, he'd put up with the worst Kersh and his cronies could dish out. It was worth it.

He felt like his bones were melting as he dug his Discman out of his satchel and slipped in the CD. After adjusting the headphones, he sat on the bed he'd been using, leaned against the headboard, closed his eyes, and pressed the play button. And listened as words and music filled his head and heart.

     Now that we're alone  
     No more hide and seek  
     You are the highest dream to me  
     And as you softly sleep  
     Then I can tell you what it means  
     Locked in my arms like lovers lie  
     I will not let you slip away  
     Is this the summer of them all?  
     Is this my night of nights  
     That you came to stay?

     Here you are, owner of my heart  
     Just the way that love should be  
     And there is something I must say to you  
     If you promise to believe  
     That it's you I'm living for  
     And I could not love you more

     Seasons may come and seasons go  
     But these are the truest words I know  
     Face to face, eye to eye  
     This is the summer of our lives  
     One love that cannot die

     Here you are, owner of my soul  
     Never let you say goodbye  
     And there is something I must say to you  
     We leave the world outside  
     And you have come to me at last, we start  
     Open up your heart  
     Let my deepest love inside  
     I'm only doing what I have to do  
     If you promise to believe  
     That it's you I'm living for  
     And I could not love you more.

When the song ended, Mulder sat quietly, his body trembling under the strain of trying not to lose it completely. He tilted his head back before daring to open his stinging eyes again, then stared blindly at the spidery cracks in the ceiling.

After a few more minutes of talking himself into keeping it together, he removed the headphones and sat down heavily at the phone. He dialled the condo and hung up after five rings. When his phone still hadn't rung a minute later, he felt his chest constrict.

//Why aren't you home, Walter? It's Sunday afternoon, for fuck's sake!//

Shutting out grotesque images of hospital emergency wards, he punched in the number for Skinner's cell. Just seconds after he hung up, the phone rang, jangling his nerves so much that he jumped and cried out. He inhaled deeply and picked it up on the second ring.

"Walter?" 

"Hi, babe."

God, it was good to hear that warm, rich voice! Mulder strengthened his grip on the receiver and swallowed. "I got your gift. Thanks."

"It's not really a gift. I'm just lending it to you for a few days."

The younger man rolled his eyes. "The *Bee Gees*, Walter?"

"Stop rolling your eyes."

//How the hell does he do that?//

"Admit it, Fox. It's a great song."

Mulder's smart-ass reply didn't make it past his lips.

"Fox? You still there?"

He swallowed. "Yeah, I'm still here. Jesus, what are you--"

Someone was knocking at his door. Mulder glowered at it. "Just a sec, Walter. There's someone here." He held the receiver against his chest. "Who is it?"

"Mulder, it's me."

He glanced at his watch. She was early. He put the phone back up to his ear. "It's Scully. I'm going to see what she wants. Hang on."

He set the receiver down, stomped across the room, looked through the spyhole out of habit--yup, it was Scully, all right--and swung the door open.

"What is it, Scully? Walter's on the--Oh, God!"

Standing to Scully's left was Walter Skinner, a large duffel bag in one hand, his cell phone dangling in the other. And he was sexy as hell, wearing dangerous, faded jeans, and the black cashmere turtleneck that Mulder had given him for Christmas, topped by a short black leather coat.

His mouth still agape, Mulder stepped out into the hall and past Scully. Skinner dropped the bag and draped his arms around Mulder, who put his around the big man's neck and buried his face in his shoulder, stifling a sob.

Scully was never so glad to be a co-conspirator. It had taken a while, but she'd grown to accept the unconventional relationship between her partner and their former boss. And she'd been touched when Skinner called her last night and told her about his spur-of-the-moment decision to come to Corpus Christi to spend Valentine's Day with Mulder. She couldn't help wondering--hell, didn't they all?--if it would be the only one for them and, as she stood there watching them embrace, it filled her with profound sadness.

She coughed to get their attention. "Uh, guys? Maybe a public hallway's not the best place for this..."

Mulder backed up a step, but broke neither physical nor visual contact with Skinner. Scully winced at the look on her partner's face as he fought to control his brittle emotions.

Her voice was now as watery as her eyes, but she tried to smile as she gently pushed them into Mulder's room. "Have a good time, gentlemen," she said as she handed Skinner his bag. "And Mulder--don't forget to hang up the phone."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks, Scully," Mulder said. "But what about dinner?"

She shook her head to compose herself. "Three's a crowd, partner. See you in the morning."

Before she could leave, Skinner reached out and touched her arm. "Thank you, Dana. For everything."

She patted his hand. "My pleasure, Walter." Then she closed the door, leaving the two men alone.

This time, their hugs were accompanied by kisses--kisses that quickly ripened from sweet and slow to passionate and urgent. Kisses that encouraged Skinner to lose his cell phone, glasses, coat, shoes. Kisses that led them from the doorway to the desk (to replace the whining receiver) to the bed in a matter of moments.

"Walter," Mulder gasped as Skinner's reclining body covered his own, "I need to take a shower..."

Skinner's lips moved on from Mulder's mouth to his neck, and his hands were busy loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. "You will when *I* get through with you." His tongue lapped and teeth nipped at Mulder's throat, collarbone, nipples. Especially his nipples. When Mulder's chest was fully exposed, Skinner licked his way down his lover's sternum while practised fingers undid his belt and pants.

Moaning louder as Skinner's tongue found his navel, Mulder ran his hands over the smooth scalp that hovered above his mid-section, stroked the semi-circle of fine, dark hair. He had the presence of mind to kick off his shoes and raise his hips to allow Skinner to finish undressing him. But all rational thought escaped him when he felt moist, warm lips brushing his burgeoning erection. He craned his neck and watched with mounting excitement as the head of his cock, then most of the shaft, was consumed by a hungry mouth.

The little grunts and moans that bubbled up from Skinner as he feasted on Mulder's cock and balls made the grateful recipient think of a starving man enjoying his first meal in weeks. It made it difficult for Mulder to restrain himself.

"No, not yet," he panted, grabbing at his lover's shoulders. "You're overdressed."

Skinner slithered back up to once again plunder Mulder's mouth, tantalizing the naked skin beneath him with seductive softness of his sweater.

"Get. Naked. Now," Mulder commanded hoarsely.

After one more scandalous kiss, Skinner rolled off Mulder and sat on the edge of the bed to take off his socks. He then stood, turned to face the spread-eagled man and, with deliberate slowness, pulled the turtleneck over his head.

For someone who'd never thought of another man's body as erotic or desirable a year ago, Fox Mulder couldn't get enough of *this* one. Both his mind and his cock twitched as the disappearing cashmere revealed perfectly toned abs, pecs, shoulders and arms. For just a fleeting moment, he flashed back to a month ago, when Skinner'd come so close to losing those arms, when all that stunning flesh was a mass of ruptured blood vessels. He was damned if he'd ever let that happen again...

But then Skinner was undoing his belt, unzipping his fly, pushing his jeans down--and giving Mulder his second shock of the day. He was wearing skin-tight, cotton-knit boxer briefs. But, unlike the heather grey ones that had been another Christmas gift from Mulder, these were red. Fire-engine red.

"Oh, my," Mulder whispered as Skinner shrugged off the jeans.

"You like?" He stood with his pelvis slightly cocked, hands on his hips. The ultimate GQ cover boy.

"I *love*!" Mulder sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Don't move!"

Kneeling before Skinner, he ran both hands all over the soft, clingy fabric. As he stroked Skinner's rigid cock through the briefs, he first felt, then saw, irrefutable evidence of his arousal just below the waistband. Reaching around to cup firm buttocks, Mulder pressed his face into Skinner's crotch and breathed in an intoxicating perfume of fabric softener, soap, and Skinner's unique musk. With nose, cheekbones and chin, he nuzzled every curve and hollow, then retraced his steps with his lips and tongue. As his hands kneaded Skinner's ass, he finally zeroed in on the captive cock, nipping and sucking at it through the underwear.

Skinner's hands were now lost in Mulder's hair. "These things aren't edible, you know."

Mulder looked up and met his eyes. "Too bad." He peeled down the briefs and helped Skinner step out of them. The older man sighed with relief as the cool air washed over his smoldering cock. But then it was engulfed in heat again as Mulder drew his lips over the head and caressed it with his tongue.

Standing the way he was, Skinner had nothing to hold on to except for Mulder's head. He spread his legs a little more, not only to keep his balance, but also to give his partner better access to his aching balls. The lightning bolts of extreme pleasure that were now shooting from his groin straight to his brain were almost too much to withstand. His entire body shuddered, sending shockwaves rippling into Mulder's mouth.

With that, the kneeling man released Skinner's cock and lumbered to his feet. He stifled Skinner's protests with a ravenous kiss.

After several heady minutes of mutual face sucking, ass squeezing and pelvic grinding, Mulder broke away and pulled Skinner toward the bed. "I need to feel you in me."

"Lube," Skinner managed to say.

"I'll be fine." He tugged harder.

But Skinner could be an immovable object when he wanted to be. "No. Wait. I brought some." Mulder let him go, and he rummaged through his bag. "Got it."

"How do you want me?"

"On top. But on your side first so I can get you ready."

Skinner lay down behind him and tenderly, patiently opened him up with a well-lubricated finger. When he felt the muscles start to relax, he added lube to a second finger and slipped it into Mulder's anus, too. Several days had passed since they'd last made love, and he wanted to make sure that Mulder was stretched properly. There was no way in hell he was going to hurt him.

"I'm ready, Walter," said the mind reader.

"Come on up, then."

They loved to look at one another when they fucked. And this was a favourite position. Mulder straddled Skinner and kneeled facing him, then slathered him with lube. With Skinner's hands guiding his hips, he found the perfect angle and carefully lowered himself onto the vertical cock with a reedy moan. Once Skinner was completely inside him, Mulder began to alternate between rocking back and forth, bending forward to exchange kisses, and leaning back toward Skinner's feet to allow his prostate to be rubbed by his lover's erection.

"Oh, sweet Jesus..."

Skinner was highly aroused, not only by Mulder's manoeuvres, but also by the view. The sight of sweat beading on Mulder's tensed torso and shoulders, trickling down his breastbone to his crotch as he rocked and swayed, was nothing short of spectacular. And that face! It was filled with boundless love and lust, and it was all for him. Skinner eventually tore his eyes away from Mulder's to watch his own cock sliding in and out of that tight, beautiful ass. Christ, it felt so good! He leaned forward and flicked his tongue at Mulder's erection, lapping up the sweet moisture that was oozing from the slit. He tried to take in more than just the head, but he wasn't quite flexible enough.

But the effort alone was making Mulder crazy. "Come for me, Walter. Fuck me." He concentrated on tightening the grip of his rectal muscles, and got a roar of approval from Skinner.

He clasped Mulder's hands, interlaced their fingers, as Mulder took him in deeper. "Ride me hard, Fox. I'm almost there..."

"Touch me. I want to come with you."

"No!" He wasn't sure if he could form a sentence at this point, but he had to try. "Wait. Want to. Suck you off. After I come."

"Then you'd better come soon." He wrenched one hand free and reached around behind his back until he found Skinner's balls. He then began massaging them as he increased the intensity of their coupling. Skinner threw back his head and jerked his hips toward the heavens as he erupted into Mulder, who collapsed onto his heaving chest.

"I love you, Walter."

"I know," he puffed. "I love you, too, babe."

Skinner's fingers found Mulder's face and guided it to his lips, kissing the swollen mouth until he felt his cock slipping out of the wonderfully warm body. Grasping Mulder by the waist to hold him in place, he started sliding down the bed, tonguing his way to the rampant cock. The younger man knelt above Skinner's face and guided himself over the inviting lips. One, two, three thrusts of his hips and he climaxed, remembering only at the last second to scream into the mattress.

His ass and cock were a bit sore, but pleasantly so. He lifted a shaky leg to allow Skinner to wiggle back up to bask in the afterglow with him.

"God, Fox, even when you're muffled you're noisy! It's a good thing Dana's room is three floors down."

Lazily, Mulder rubbed his foot along the other man's shin. "Yeah, it's kind of weird not having her right next door."

Skinner harrumphed. "A happy coincidence, I'd say." He stroked Mulder's back absentmindedly and took his first good look at the room. "It isn't exactly the Hilton, but you lucked out with this place."

"No shit! I assume Scully told you what happened."

When working out of town, Mulder and Scully usually stayed in cheap, run-down motels, either in adjoining or neighbouring rooms. But Corpus Christi was hosting a national romance writers' convention this weekend, and almost every room in the city--including the worst the fleabags had to offer--had been booked for months. Mulder gleefully hoped that it had irked Kersh to no end to have to put his most troublesome subordinates up in a real hotel.

"Walter?" He cuddled closer.

"Hmmm?"

"I love my present. And those sexy red briefs! Wow!" Then the sparkle in his eyes faded. "I--I'm sorry I didn't get you anything."

Skinner pressed his mouth against Mulder's forehead. "You've given me everything I've ever wanted, Fox, and then some. But if it'll make you feel any better, you can buy me dinner tonight."

"There's room service here, and the food isn't half bad. I'll pay for it in cash, though, so Kersh won't ride my ass."

"He may be your boss now," Skinner said with an affectionate growl as he patted Mulder's backside, "but riding your ass will always be *my* job. Capice?"

That brought out a short-lived grin. "How long can you stay?"

"Until the morning. I've got meetings all day Tuesday."

"You took a hell of a big risk coming here, you know. What if he'd followed you to the airport? Onto the plane? He's got your life in his fucking hands--"

Skinner kissed him. Hard. Sometimes, there was no other way to shut him up. "I can't stay home and hide under the bed forever, Fox. Besides, Krycek still hasn't told me what he wants from me. And he won't just up and kill me, because I'm no good to him dead. That's why he ran down that Tunisian diplomat before he could shoot me. I've got to flush Krycek out and get to the bottom of this, find out who he's working for. I'm so tired of being fucked over by everyone. Present company excluded, of course."

Mulder chuckled, but he sounded like he was on the verge of tears. "Please--please just be careful, okay?" He didn't dare look at the other man.

"If it weren't for you, Fox, I probably wouldn't give a damn. But you make my life worth living. And I think I've made a difference in yours, too. So stop worrying. I'm not going to let anybody use me and then throw me away like so much garbage. I'm not the ineffectual, impotent puppet they seem to think I am. This old ex-Marine just may surprise those fuckers yet."

"I know you will. But you have to let me help. Me *and* Scully. She's getting used to me being Mr. Congeniality. She'd be pretty pissed if anything happened to you, and I went back to my old assholian self."

"God help the people Scully gets pissed at." He made Mulder look at him. "Just for tonight, can we *please* try to forget about all this shit and enjoy ourselves? I came here to cheer you up, not bring you down."

Mulder gave a hint of a smile. "I thought you came here to fuck me."

"Same thing."

He gently pecked the tip of Skinner's nose. "I'm really glad you're here, Walter. When did you decide to come?"

"Yesterday morning. You sounded so damned sad and lonely on the phone Friday night..."

"I can never keep anything from you, can I? Sorry."

"Don't be. I felt the same way. Obviously, 'cuz here I am." Then he kissed Mulder, parting his teeth with his tongue, and felt his lover's stiffening cock slide along his own. He reached down and fondled it to exquisite hardness. With his free hand, he managed to find the lube, squeezed some onto Mulder's fingers, and guided them behind him to his own asshole. He flinched slightly as the cool gel made contact with his fiery skin.

Without withdrawing his fingers from the cleft between Skinner's cheeks, Mulder pulled him over onto his stomach and placed a pillow beneath his pelvis. The older man spread his legs and bent his knees slightly, and Mulder gasped at the highly erotic sight of the round, supple and oh-so-fuckable ass just waiting for him. Skinner had his head turned so that Mulder could see and kiss the right side of his face while he opened him up.

When Skinner indicated he was more than ready, Mulder lubed his own cock and knelt between the prone man's legs. He eased himself in slowly, thoughtfully, constantly aware of his partner's comfort and safety. Both men groaned as the invading organ finally slid in to the hilt.

Mulder's chest was pressed against Skinner's back, his arms around his middle, his mouth fastened onto the nape of his neck. He managed to work his hands under Skinner so that one could squeeze his balls while the other jerked him off.

And they fucked luxuriously, Skinner matching Mulder's thrusts by raising his pelvis, crying out each time the probing cock hit his prostate, pounding himself into skilful hands.

Mulder picked up the pace, slamming his balls into the back of Skinner's scrotum, frantically pumping the sizzling, thick cock he was holding. More intense than he would have imagined, his second orgasm of the afternoon ripped through him just moments after Skinner came with astonishing force.

Still joined, they tipped over to one side so they could both catch their breath.

"That's it for me tonight." Skinner sounded sleepy.

Mulder tweaked a nipple playfully. "I don't think so, Walter. After we take a nice hot bath together, I'm going to feed you to get your strength back, and then seduce you."

Skinner snorted good-naturedly. "Good luck."

"Maybe if you let me wear those red underwear..."

******

Skinner honestly didn't think he had it in him, but Mulder's methods of seduction seemed to work every time.

The hotel kitchen was slower than usual tonight, so they had enough time between ordering room service and receiving it to have a long, reviving soak. The tub was standard size--much smaller than their own--but Skinner loved having Mulder sit between his knees and lean back into him like that.

When their food finally arrived, it was as good as Mulder had said it would be. And it tasted even better accompanied by the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon that Skinner pulled from his duffel bag.

There was no CD player in the room, but there was a clock radio, so after dinner Mulder found an easy-listening radio station and insisted that they slow dance for a while. Then a long stretch of commercials came on, and Mulder started humming softly. Singing wasn't one of Mulder's greatest talents, and it took Skinner a while to figure out what the song was, but he was deeply moved when he recognized it as "I Could Not Love You More."

"Does this mean I don't get my CD back?" he asked.

"Uh-huh. It's *mine* now. Goes with me everywhere." He nipped at an earlobe. "And if you so much as breathe a word of this to Scully, I'll start eating sunflower seeds in bed again as soon as I get home."

"Okay, okay. God, you're such a sadist. And speaking of beds, I wouldn't mind getting off my feet..."

Mulder undressed him, laid him down, and spent close to an hour massaging, kissing and licking every muscle, every inch of skin. Just when Skinner would start drifting off, an erogenous zone would come under gentle attack, and he would find himself fully awake and alert. And, yes, his cock *was* responding.

They necked like maniacs while Skinner peeled Mulder out of his clothes, then sucked each other off simultaneously. Their orgasms were hardly earth-shattering, but left them both feeling pretty damned wonderful just the same.

"Would you let me sleep *now*?" Skinner asked, trying to sound like a martyr but failing miserably.

"Definitely. I want you to be well-rested in the morning so I can give you a proper send-off."

Skinner sought the hazel eyes in the darkened room. "Tell me that you're kidding."

Mulder pulled Skinner's head onto his shoulder and enfolded him in his arms. "You'll see. 'Night, Walter. I love you."

"I love you, too, you sex fiend," Skinner groaned. But he was smiling sadly. He knew there were worse ways to die.

***********

Fini  
January 30, 1999


End file.
